


Courted

by Xyriath



Series: Bonded [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Future, Diplomacy, Fluff, M/M, Omega Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: Shiro has worked like hell to get where he is today: an accomplished ambassador to other planets despite his Omega status.  After all, not all species have the same dynamics, and they don't care whatever Shiro might be.This time, however, Earth messed up, and when he realizes that the Galra share those same dynamics, he prepares for a difficult task ahead.But what he finds isn't anything like what he's expecting.





	Courted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eghfeithrean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eghfeithrean/gifts).



> My Sheith Secret Santa gift for Eghfeithrean! I hope you enjoy!

Shiro knew, the moment he stepped off the shuttle and smelled Alpha, that there would be trouble.

Not that he had any doubt in his ambassador abilities, of course.  He had received commendations for them over the years, brokered treaties that Earth had previously thought impossible.  But he hadn’t missed the planets and species that tended to give him the runaround, that would shoot him half-smirks when they thought he wasn’t looking or talk plenty without promising anything whatsoever.  He knew when to cut his losses, when a society wasn’t inclined to give him so much as the time of day once they discovered his status.

Not that Earth was perfect: he had received some pushback even from home when he had declared his intentions to become an ambassador to other planets, though he had worked that out in the end.  And there were plenty of societies that had no biases whatsoever, having grown past internalized prejudices against omegas.

But in all, Shiro’s bosses tended to play it safe.  Not every species had evolved in the same way, after all: there were plenty of planets out there with far different statuses and sexes, or with none at all, where being this thing called an “omega” was nothing more than a biological quirk of another species, barely a drop in the genetic ocean to them.

So why, then, had they sent him to Daibazaal, where the moment he stepped off the shuttle onto the planet, the overwhelming scent of alpha practically clobbered him in the face?

His guide was perfectly polite, of course, almost oddly eager to meet him in a way Shiro hadn’t quite experienced before.  And though the Galra was very clearly an alpha, he didn’t give Shiro a look-over and then a condescending smirk, or a sidelong sniff that turned into an expression far too interested for Shiro’s comfort.  A tail reminiscent of a lizard’s extended behind the Galra, twitching, but Shiro didn’t know enough about their body language yet to make any kind of guess on what that might mean.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” the Galra said (or, rather, Shiro’s chip translated), almost breathlessly, extending a clawlike hand.  Shiro glanced at it in surprise, already on his way to make the Galra salute of hand over heart, but paused midway and took the hand instead, shaking.

“I didn’t know Galra shook hands as well,” Shiro said, an easy grin on his face.

“Oh, we don’t,” his guide said quickly, almost eagerly.  “But that is how you greet each other on Earth, yes?”

“Yes, it is,” Shiro replied, but though his voice was smooth and pleasant, the words did send a small prickle of curiosity through him.  From what he had been told, the Galra had been isolated for quite some time and were quite proud of their customs, generally reluctant to partake in those of other species.  Small as a handshake might be, Shiro hadn’t expected such an early adoption to Earth custom.  “I appreciate the gesture.”  Still, to be cautious, he lifted his hand in the salute as well.  Make sure his bases were covered.

To his astonishment, the Galra across from him returned the gesture, looking almost honored.  Had they truly never had an ambassador before, or at least one who bothered to learn their customs?

“Right!” the Galra said breathlessly, and Shiro realized that he had to be a little on the young side.  Galra lifespans tended to be similar to those of humans, and though their features differed too significantly for Shiro to get an accurate gauge of age, by demeanor, he had to at least be a few years younger than Shiro.  “My name is Regris.  I’m here to escort you and your staff to the embassy.”

Now, that was normal enough.  With a polite nod, Shiro and his staff—two bodyguards, a secretary, and a few others—followed Regris.

—

One of the first things Shiro noticed was something that he didn’t think the rest of his staff would: there were no other omegas.

The absence unsettled him.  Though he was used to an absence of alphas, betas, and omegas altogether, running into a situation of two without the other didn’t feel right.

They had finished receiving a tour of their new quarters—a very large suite within the imperial palace itself, including an actual kitchen and several private rooms for Shiro, personally, as the head ambassador—when Shiro decided to ask Regris about it.

Regris stiffened, looking a little alarmed, and Shiro’s suspicion grew.  Was he about to learn that omegas were all enslaved and kept underground, or something equally unpleasant?  He had heard horror stories from other places, after all…

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, looking so very sincere.  “I didn’t mean to insult you—we just don’t—there aren’t a lot, and the ones we do have are busy—in meetings, you see, your shuttle arrived early, but I can see if there’s anyone right now—

“No, no, that’s all right!”  Shiro lifted his hands placatingly, unable to keep from laughing a little.  “I don’t mind waiting.”

Regris nodded, still looking concerned, and Shiro felt a little better.  He was used to being stuck in meetings; as long as he wasn’t going to end up on a leash somewhere, he would be fine.

Probably.

But as promised, within the hour, Shiro received a visit from Regris, hurriedly ushering him to another part of the palace.

When the door opened, revealing a massive Galra with a white braid and a build even larger than Shiro’s, Regris straightened to attention, fist over his chest in salute, and Shiro could feel himself relax as the scent of omega wafted over him.

“Kolivan, sir, the Earth ambassador is here to see you.”

The Galra looked up, nostrils flaring, and the ridges where his eyebrows would be if he had been human.  “Welcome.”

“He asked to see you specifically.  I’m sorry to bother, but—”

Kolivan lifted his hand dismissively.  “Not a worry.  You’re dismissed.”

As Regris turned literal tail and left, Shiro offered his own salute.  “Actually, I think he might be a little confused.  I only asked if there were any other omegas around; I just hadn’t seen any, and… well.”  Shiro laughed with a little bit of self-consciousness.  “I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t made any initial faux pas.”

Kolivan cocked his head, looking for all the world like a slightly confused cat, and god, these Galra were going to be the end of him with how adorable they were.  “Not at all.  I’ll admit, I’m surprised to see that one was sent.  Are they more common among your species?  It’s certainly an honor, either way.”

Shiro blinked slowly.  “Honor?” he repeated intelligently, suddenly wondering if he had stepped into some sort of parallel universe.

“Indeed.  I can’t imagine that it was easy to spare you, but the effort of Earth to make this alliance a success is noted and appreciated.”

“Spare… an omega?”  Shiro asked it slowly, wanting to confirm, one hundred percent, that he was reading this situation correctly.

Kolivan simply nodded.

“It’s not a problem,” Shiro continued quickly, straightening.  “I can’t wait to begin.”

—

Emperor Zarkon was an omega.

This was, Shiro gathered through conversation, a positive state of affairs amongst the Galra.  Not a requirement of their ruler, but encouraged—something about a leveler head, better skills with others, all culminating in positive royal traits.  The son of the emperor was an alpha, however, as was his son, and it was genuinely fascinating to hear the way the Galra spoke of this.  Not as if either of them were bad fits to rule, but as if this was an oddity, that having not just one, but two non-omega rulers consecutively would be very unusual.

(And, of course, the crown prince’s son would be expected to find an omega of good standing to marry, just as his father had.)

It was easy enough to fall into a groove on Daibazaal.  Meetings, though with enough differences in culture to keep them interesting, were similar enough to those Shiro had gone through on other planets to handle with skill.  It kept him busy, and though he had yet to meet the Emperor in anything more than fairly brief context, he had plenty to do and quickly settled into a routine.

One that, six days since his arrival, was completely shattered during his daily walk in one of the palace’s gardens.

The Galra, he had found, were expert gardeners, curating several amongst the royal lodgings, and he generally found it enjoyable to take about fifteen minutes of a breather in one of them at least once a day.  Though the shapes of the plants were somewhat unusual, the hedges were still the familiar green of earth, a not-unfamiliar phenomenon across planets.

And someone had just crashed out of one of them and slammed straight into Shiro.

Shiro reached out to steady whoever it might be, picking up immediately on the rank scent of frightened alpha.  The two eyes that met his—wide and frantic and a deep purple that Shiro might have been able to lose himself in if the situation hadn’t been so urgent—only supported this observation.

“Help me,” he gasped, gripping Shiro’s shoulders.  “ _Please._ ”

Shiro’s own eyes widened at the desperation in the voice, and he reached up to take the wrists next to his shoulders.  “What?  Is everything all right?  Tell me how I can help.”

“Hide me!”  The Galra’s ears were flat back against his head: he seemed to be one of the more catlike ones, with lighter purple fur covering most of his visible body and a mop of dark purple, almost black, hair on his head.  It curled gently around his face, somehow only accenting that vulnerability.

Shiro wanted to help him, _god_ he did, but when someone like this was doing something they perhaps shouldn’t be in the middle of the imperial palace…

“Please,” came the desperate voice.  “The gardener is gonna _kill_ me.”

Shiro paused, considering, then made a snap decision.  Turning, he thrust his prosthetic arm into the hedge, forming a gap, and with his other hand, gripped the Galra by the back of his shirt and shoved him in.  The moment the branches snapped shut, another, larger Galra, this one in the attire of the palace staff, rounded the corner, a furious scowl on his face.

“Has anyone come through here?” he snapped, and as he stepped forward, Shiro realized that he had to be almost twice Shiro’s size.  He had an artificial arm, too, but much larger than Shiro’s, and it was tipped with some sort of ghastly-looking implement that was probably a gardening tool but still looked terrifying.

No wonder the Galra currently hiding in the hedge didn’t want to end up on the other end of that.

“I haven’t seen anyone, no,” he said carefully.  “What happened?”

“Little brat wrecked my hanging gardens _again_ ,” he muttered, dragging his real hand down the side of his face.  “You see anyone, you let me know, got it?”

Shiro nodded, thinking it best to say as few words as possible in this situation.

The gardener simply shook his head, turning and storming off as he muttered something about aliens that Shiro was sure he didn’t want to hear.

A grunting sound from behind him, and Shiro turned to see the Galra shoving his way out of the hedge.

“That was close,” he panted, shaking his head like a wet dog.  Leaves and branches fluttered from where they had been stuck in his hair down to the ground.  “But Sendak doesn’t give up that easily.  He’ll be back.”

Shiro hesitated, but the downright morose look on this Galra’s face, the way his ears lay flat back against his head, tugged at his heartstrings.

“I have a set of suites, if you’d like to weather the storm there,” he offered.  Stupid, maybe, but how could he turn down those eyes?

Especially when they brightened like that.  “You mean it?  Sure, yeah.”

Shiro immediately made his way to the entrance to the palace, the Galra following behind him.  “My name is Shiro.  What’s yours?”

“Keithra,” he panted, running fingers through his hair in a comfortingly human motion, glancing around anxiously for any sign of the gardener.  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Shiro realized after a few moments that he had met two others with a similar (or same?  Some of the Galra phonetics were difficult to discern) names.  It must be fairly common.  “You’re not from around here—”

He turned back to Shiro, face suddenly furrowing in confusion.  He leaned forward, taking a tentative sniff, and his eyes widened.

“You’re the omega!” he gasped, ears immediately pricking back up.  “The one from… from…”

“Earth,” Shiro finished, trying not to laugh at the surprise and almost eagerness in Keithra’s voice.  “Yes.  It’s nice to meet you.”

Keithra followed Shiro into the suites with a fascination that Shiro had to find adorable, but the moment Shiro opened the door, revealing several of his staff sitting in various areas around the room, Keithra shrunk back.

“Didn’t realize there’d be people,” he muttered, ears flat back against his head again, and Shiro’s lips twitched.

“We do work most of the day,” he teased.  “If you know of any better hiding places…”

Keithra tilted his head, then perked up, taking a few steps away.  “Actually, I have a better idea.  Why don’t you let me thank you?  You’ve been really busy, right?  So you haven’t had much of a chance to go sightseeing?”

Shiro raised an eyebrow.  “I _did_ receive an official tour of the city, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Keithra waved his hand—the palm looked like a paw and Shiro thought he might die—and headed in another direction, clearly expecting Shiro to follow.  “So they showed you all the fancy landmarks and stuff.  But you gotta find someone who knows where he’s going to get to the _real_ good places.”

Shiro glanced back towards the door, which had closed behind him.  He _did_ have a lot of work to do…

…but learning about the culture of the city in which he had been stationed could be seen as work too.

“Are you asking me out?” he teased, only half-expecting the colloquialism to translate.  But Keithra froze, turning back to watch him with wide eyes.

“I… uh, I mean…”  His shoulders hunched and his toe immediately began to scuff against the floor.  “It doesn’t… I don’t _have_ to be, I just thought you were, you know, really…”

He swallowed, and his eyes flicked from Shiro’s abdomen, to his biceps, to his face.  Shiro could feel his own face beginning to heat in a way that he suspected Keithra’s might be, too, underneath that fur.

“Sure,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.  “Let’s go.”

He hadn’t thought Keithra’s eyes could widen any more.  He had been wrong.  “Really?”

Shiro grinned back and offered his arm.  “Really.”

—

Keithra hadn’t been wrong: the less-known areas of the capital of Rylex contained a charm that wasn’t to be found in the palace, or even the well-to-do districts that they had shown the diplomatic team during their tour.  It wasn’t underdeveloped, per se, but the Galra living here clearly weren’t used to the glamor and finery of the rich, and Shiro had to admit that it all had a lot more personality than what he had seen.

As they walked through crowded streets, shops on all sides, dozens of fascinating smells in the air, Keithra took his arm and dragged him over to a food vendor, ordering two of something Shiro had never seen in his life, paying, and thrusting one into his hands.

“ _That_ will make up for saving my life,” he said, expression intense and serious.  “I promise.”

Shiro couldn’t help cracking a smile.  “I don’t think that the gardener was going to _kill_ you.”

“You don’t know that,” Keithra shot back, looking a little put out.  “I’ve never seen him that mad before in my life.”

“I imagine he knows better.”  Shiro paused for a moment, considering, then hazarded voicing his theory that he had been building since meeting Keithra.  “Your parents work at the palace, right?  Or one of them, at least.  I can’t imagine they’d be pleased.”

Keithra straightened, bite midway to his mouth, then turned, clearly startled.  “What?  How did you know?”

“You don’t exactly strike me as an employee, but you clearly know the palace and what’s going on.”  He decided to leave it at that and not expand on the special type of irreverence a person rarely displayed towards their own place of employ.  So many planets, and some phenomena never changed.

“Well… I mean, yeah, I guess,” Keithra said reluctantly, looking away.  “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Shiro said easily.  “I was just curious.  You aren’t much younger than me, are you?”

“Twenty-three,” Keithra shot back hotly, immediately defensive again.  Shiro didn’t respond to this, instead just smiling easily.  He never did like encouraging the intensity of alphas; if ignored, they generally tended to burn themselves out.

“I thought so.  I’m twenty-eight.  From what I understand, our species have roughly the same year length, correct?  Though I think yours might be a bit longer.”

Keithra nodded, a little wary, but Shiro again ignored it and lifted his skewer to take a bite.

The moment he did, his eyes widened, and he chewed slowly, reverently, never wanting this moment to end.

If Shiro had been forced to make a comparison to a food on Earth, he would have probably chosen a gyro, but the resemblance was only sort of passing.  The unique blend of spices, nothing like he had ever tasted before, exploded and melded in his mouth, and whatever meat this might be, Shiro wasn’t sure he ever wanted to eat anything else.  He lifted two of his fingers to his lips.  Eyes wide, he let out a small moan, unable to believe that he had actually eaten something _this amazing._

“Do you like it?” Keithra asked, eyeing him, ears angled backwards but not flat, clearly apprehensive about Shiro’s impression.  “I know it’s not like what they have up at the palace, but…”

“Keithra,” Shiro interrupted, voice cracking a little from the fact that he hadn’t quite finished swallowing before beginning to speak, “In all the planets I’ve been to, I have never tasted anything this amazing.  This makes up for hiding you, and so much more.”

Keithra’s face immediately softened, relief clear in his expression.  “Oh.  Good.  I was worried—I know that you’re probably not used to Galra food, yet, so…”

“I don’t think I ever will be, if it continues to astound me like this.”  He stared down at the skewer of meat in his hand with awe.  “What is this?”

“It’s called goq.  It’s cheap, so it’s not really fancy, but it’s _really_ good.”

“Stop worrying about what I’ll think about the value of something, Keithra,” Shiro laughed gently.  “I grew up without much money, you know.  My idea of cheap food is instant ramen—well, you probably don’t know what that is—and whatever was on sale at the supermarket.  I promise, I don’t care how much you spend as long as it tastes good.”  Shiro lifted the goq in his hand.  “And this?  This is _amazing_.”

Shiro hadn’t realized the fur on the back of Keithra’s neck was prickled a little until it began to lower.  “Really?”

“Really,” Shiro promised, reaching out on an impulse to smooth it back down.  “I really appreciate you making this effort for me.”

“Well.”  Keithra looked away, but this time much more calmly than he had before; instead of looking defensive, he seemed satisfied.  “You deserve good things.”

Shiro’s eyebrows rose.  The words had startled him with their forwardness.  “You don’t know me,” he replied, teasing a little, but Keithra only turned, expression solemn.

“I know enough that you were willing to help someone you didn’t know who needed it.  That says a lot.”  Shiro shook his head in amusement, but Keithra continued.  “And I…”  He straightened, lifting his chin, setting his shoulders.  “I’d like to get to know more of you.  If you’ll allow it.”

The eyebrows rose even higher.  That… that sounded like something more than just a simple invitation to friendship.

He took a moment to consider.  There had been blatant attempts to court him, of course: the reverence Galra seemed to show omegas was a little unsettling at times.  But they all at least responded well to a good old-fashioned “no.”  Not that Shiro was particularly opposed to dalliances, or even something more serious—though most of the nature of his diplomatic work involved establishing the beginnings of relationships, laying the groundwork for others to come through and deepen those ties, he had been thinking for a while about how settling down might not be such a bad idea.  But while the respect was nice, none of them actually wanted Shiro for being… Shiro.  It was all about the glamor of ensnaring a rarity, the allure of an omega.

But this was something a little different.  Charming.  Almost… innocent.

And Keithra was _adorable._

“Sure,” Shiro said, soft and fond, his smile growing as Keithra’s eyes widened.  “I think I would like that.”

—

Keithra didn’t buy him anything else on their outing, something over which Shiro breathed a silent sigh of relief.  So many alphas seemed to think that all he needed was to be appeased with things and he would fall right over himself into their arms, and even here, there was sometimes an expectation that his affections could be earned or bought.

But Keithra only wanted to show Shiro the city, new things, things that Shiro would never have seen from his position as the ambassador.  His favorite had to be the area where the new, sleek, technologically advanced area transitioned into the older parts of the city, its inhabitants apparently aiming to counter the expectations of the futuristic aesthetic with what looked like real, live, manually done coats of paint on the buildings.  Some had designs, others were solid, but they were all in a range of every color imaginable and some that Shiro didn’t know existed.  Keithra clearly knew plenty of Galra in these neighborhoods, as they greeted him by name, asking about his well-being and someone who Shiro thought for a few moments might be a relative but turned out to be a small, native creature that the Galra kept for pets, and this one Keithra had picked up off the streets and given a home.

When asked about that home, however, Keithra deferred awkwardly.  Shiro supposed he couldn't blame him, if he thought it might underwhelm someone used to the finery of the palace.  Shiro wouldn't have minded—he hadn't had a glamorous upbringing, either—but didn't want to press.  Not for now.

But they finished the day with their fingers tangled together, each other’s private comm numbers, and a promise to meet up again once Shiro was free.

That next meeting, a result of several aggressively stolen hours on Shiro's part, Keithra wheedled him into visiting a museum, one that showcased the military history of the ancient Galra. He lingered over the blades with a fondness that definitely was on the odd side, but wasn’t as threatening as Shiro might have thought.  The interest clued Shiro in enough that he wasn’t too terribly taken aback when their next stop was what Shiro initially thought to be an underground fighting ring but was more of a sort of martial art, with an emphasis on the “art”: none of the parties actually tried to kill each other, instead focusing on the technique and the movements which all came together in movements that very nearly resembled a dance.

(Shiro, always one for slowly and naturally growing relationships, didn’t consider it too forward to, at this point, lean in and press his lips to Keithra’s temple, a gesture that seemed to confuse him more than anything else: apparently Galra weren’t big kissers.  Once Shiro explained the gesture of affection, however, he grew very interested, trying to coax Shiro into “showing it to him some more.”  Shiro deferred, telling him perhaps later.)

Their third outing, Shiro managed to coax Keithra into revealing what, exactly, he had done to Sendak’s hanging gardens.

“What were you even _doing_ with this in a place like that?” he had to laugh as he eyed the beat-up speeder, which was possibly even older than Keithra, but clearly well-loved.  “It doesn’t even look like it runs.”

Keithra puffed up, and for a moment, Shiro feared he had genuinely offended him.

“Not only does it run,” Keithra shot back hotly, “but it’s a _dream_ to fly.  They don’t make anything even close to this model anymore.  Do you know how lucky I was when I found it in some junk heap, ready to be trashed?  I saved a national _treasure._ ”

Shiro tried not to laugh at Keithra’s scowl, not wanting to work him up any further.  “All right, you’ve convinced me.  But if that’s the case, why did you crash it into those hanging gardens?  I’d think if it were so valuable, you’d be more careful than that.”

Keithra froze, then hunched his shoulders defensively, looking more contrite than Shiro could have ever imagined Sendak accomplishing.

“It _was_ an accident,” he mumbled, not looking at Shiro.  “I made some adjustments to it, right?  I do that a lot.  It’s good on its own, but to make it _really_ perfect, I have to tweak it a lot.  With that and the upkeep it needs anyway, ‘cause it’s so old, I’m _usually_ realy good at knowing how it’ll react to the new enhancements I put on…”

“I expect the key word here is ‘usually,’” Shiro replied with a grin.  Keithra shot him an aggrieved look.

“Well, I mean, those boosters don’t usually have such a drastic effect on other speeders.  On anything else, that would have been a _perfect_ pivot.  But I overshot.”  Keithra leaned in, rubbing at a scuff that presumably had come from the event.  “It wasn’t hurt, though.  The most important part.”

“If only Sendak’s hanging gardens could say the same.”

Another one of those glares, but Keithra couldn’t hold it up underneath Shiro’s sunny smile.  He sighed and slumped back on the speeder.

“It was an _accident_ ,” he mumbled, as if repeating it would erase the crime.  “He’s paid to do stuff like fix it, anyway.”

Shiro shook his head.  “You still didn’t answer the question, though, of why you were flying it through the gardens in the first place instead of… well, somewhere else.”

“Oh.”  Keithra shrugged, surprisingly unperturbed.  “They’re usually not crowded, and they make good obstacle courses.  Lots of people use them, even though we’re not supposed to.  Usually in the evenings, though.  I’d just finished the installation, though, and I didn’t want to wait.”

Shiro made a mental note never to go walking through the gardens at night.  “So, next question, then.”  He tilted his head, eyes gleaming.  “When are you gonna let me fly it?”

Keithra’s eyes widened in alarm, almost horror, and he watched Shiro for a few moments before he spoke.

“Listen,” Keithra began cautiously.  “I… I like you, Shiro.  I think you’re pretty great, actually.  But it’s my _speeder._ ”  The last words had a note of pleading to them, as if desperately hoping he would understand.  “No one else has ever… and I’ve put so much work into it, and I don’t think you’re a bad pilot or anything, but even _I_ just had an accident, and…”

“No, no, it’s all right!” Shiro quickly assured him, determinedly stomping down on the disappointment threatening to twinge through him.  “I definitely understand.  It’s yours, after all.”  He hesitated, then reached out to slip his hand into Keithra’s.  “Will you take me riding in it, at least?”

That resulted in an immediate shift in Keithra’s mood, brightening him up immediately.  “You want me to fly you?   _You?_ ”

“Well, yeah,” Shiro laughed.  “Who did you think I meant, Sendak?”

Keithra shook his head quickly, the motion sending his large ears flapping.  “No!  Just… you're strange, for an omega.  I haven't given you any gifts or other things I'd expect someone like you to want.  You're… kind of a big deal, Shiro, and it's just still weird for me, to realize you want to hang out with the kid of… of some palace worker.”

“Hey.”  Shiro reached out to twine their fingers together.  “Listen.  First of all, it’s different on Earth, you know.  We’re not treated the same way I am here.  So I promise, I don’t have any sort of expectations from you.  And… and even here, where I realize I could probably find myself a very rich and powerful spouse because of my status, that’s not important to me.  The reason I want to be with you is because I never felt like it was important to you, either.”

He lifted the hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it, smiling faintly  at the way Keithra’s eyes widened.

“I can just be me around you.  And that’s what matters.”

Keithra offered Shiro a hesitant smile.  “I feel that way around you, too.”

“Good,” Shiro said firmly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Keithra’s cheek.  “Now let’s go.  I have an event this evening, and need to be back by then.”

Keithra, Shiro learned, was an excellent pilot, possibly even better than Shiro himself.  As he sped them through the streets, the wind in Shiro’s hair, Shiro leaned in, arms wrapped around him, cherishing this moment.

It was a bit forward, he knew, but he couldn’t help but bury his face in the back of Keithra’s neck, inhaling the warm, rich scent of alpha.

—

Shiro adjusted his bowtie in the mirror one last time, then nodded, satisfied with the end result.  He had cleaned up well from the afternoon’s ride, and looked respectable enough, as the Galra always encouraged their party to wear their own clothing and seemed to almost revel in the differences.  As such, he felt far less out of place than he would have in any other situation.

And then the human ambassadors were announced, and Shiro forgot everything else, dropping his concerns to put on a gracious smile for any observers.

After all, tonight was the night that they would be formally introduced to the Emperor and his family.

Their host led them immediately in that direction, and Shiro performed on autopilot, greeting the Emperor, trading remarks of respect and affirmation, and more performative diplomacy that, by now, was second nature to him.  Certainly not a difficult interaction, especially not when compared with some of the others he had had to manage over the years.

The Crown Prince Ulaz came next, followed by his husband; Shiro greeted them both in similar fashion before turning to meet their son.

“ _And Prince Keithra—_ ”

He heard the name before he saw the prince, and time seemed to slow as so very much clicked into place.

Shiro turned automatically to offer the salute, as was proper, as he turned to face a very sheepish Keithra.

“Hey.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Courted - Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473577) by [theawkwardturtleduck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theawkwardturtleduck/pseuds/theawkwardturtleduck)




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